In the Stars
by Victoire Javert
Summary: Enjolras has never felt attachment to a woman-but when he meets Victoire Javert, will that change?
1. Chapter 1

Victoire walked down the streets of Paris, doing nothing in particular. Actually, that was what she usually did on early spring days. Her pale yellow gown clashed nicely with her glossy, curly, raven locks and naturally tanned skin. To top it off, she had a hat made of yellow straw with fake, pink silk roses adorning the center. The hat tied up under the back of her head with a thin white ribbon. On that particular day, the lovely French sun reflected off of her hair and caught the eyes of all the young men she passed.

She ignored them all; she had never been easily attracted to young men her age, which was 24. Her father kept telling her, "Victoire, you must get married soon! Where are my grandchildren?" It was a strange thing to hear from her father, who was, on the outside, an unemotional person. If you got very, very close to him, you could break his cold shell and enter into his warm love.

The girl, with her beautiful green eyes, was admiring a bouquet of fleur-de-lises.

"Mademoiselle," she implored, "how much does one small bunch cost?"

The old woman answered, her voice crackling like a fire, "For you, my lovely dear, it will put you back 3 francs."

She paused, biting her lip out of habit and thinking hard. "I'll take it," she smiled sweetly at the elder woman, "merci."

"Non, merci to _you._ Au revoir!"

Victoire continued down the boulevard, the bunch of flowers in her hand. Suddenly, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. "Mademoiselle?"

She turned to confront the man who had been so bold as to touch her without permission. Victoire gasped when she saw him, and he did too. He was very handsome, with rich, chocolate-brown hair and equally dark eyes. His face was finely chiseled into an elegantly curved round shape. The corners of his mouth were beginning to twitch into a smile. _Is that smile for me? Or is it for another woman? _She wondered.

"Er….um…." she muttered, at a loss for words. She was still captivated by his deep brown eyes. They seemed to stare straight into her soul, like an all-knowing being.

"I do hope that you'll pardon me," he apologized, running a hand through his hair. _His beautiful hair…._she thought.

Victoire smiled, revealing her straight, white teeth. "It's fine, monsieur," she grinned, "you have nothing to be sorry for."

"It's just….I was wondering….what is your name? You're quite beautiful."

"Thank you," I replied bashfully, "my name is Victoire."

"Victoire," he whispered, as if he was turning the name around in his mind, "my name is Antoine Enjolras, though I prefer to be called Enjolras." At this, he swept down to kiss the maiden's hand. Victoire blushed profusely.

Suddenly, an all-too familiar rhythmic clicking of boot heels rang in Victoire's ears. _CLICK! CLACK! CLICK! CLACK!_

"Er, papa," Victoire muttered, descending into a respectful curtsy, "what are you doing here? I thought you were on patrol."

Her papa, face as characteristically emotionless as ever, responded, "I am just passing this street to the police station. We've just arrested a man named Monsieur Thenardier. The crook tried to swindle a helpless elderly couple out of their money."

He spat on the ground, "What scum."

"Well, papa," Victoire asked, "can I please walk around with my friend? His name is Enjolras."

Her father stared at Enjolras, his jaw set firmly. "Young man, pray tell, what is your occupation?"

"I am a law student at the university."

"Age?"

"Twenty-six."

"Place of residence?"

"I share an apartment with my friends at 62 Rue D'lHomme."

Her father waved his hand dismissively at Enjolras, "Oui. You have my permission to escort my daughter. But Monsieur Enjolras," he warned, turning to face the young man, "if you EVER hurt my daughter in any way, you will face the severe consequences. Goodbye." The his click-clacking-boots click-clacked away.

When her father was out of earshot, Enjolras turned to Victoire. "You didn't tell me your father was Inspector Javert!"

Victoire defiantly flipped a curly lock over her shoulder. "Well, you didn't ask."

Enjolras sighed dreamily. "I have a feeling," he whispered to himself, "that I may be falling in love for the first time!"


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras led Victoire to a small, wooden café. "This is where my….friends and I meet," he explained.

Victoire looked thorugh the yellowed glass windowpanes with interest. "What do you do here?"

He seemed hesitant to answer. Trying to make up an excuse, he ran his clean, elongated fingers through his well-groomed hair. Failing to find an acceptable excuse, he answered her, "You'll find out. But, be warned, Victoire, that some of my friends may be a little…..what is the word? Yes, they may be a little….uncultured."

Victoire did not have time to ask before he hastily ushered her into the café. Looking both ways, he closed the wooden door with a rusty squeak. Enjolras cringed. He hadn't expected the noise to be so ominous, and he hoped nobody had been paying attention. They were either too busy chattering and laughing amiably or were too busy not caring.

"Got yourselffffff a girllll don' you?" a drunken man slurred, falling over a table. Victoire gasped in horror.

"Who is that man?" She whispered, frightened and pointing towards the man-who, at this time, had fallen asleep and was snoring rather loudly.

Enjolras answered like it was nothing, "Ah, his first name is….well who is to be sure he has a first name? We call him Grantaire."

Then, leaning so close that he was almost in contact with her ear, he whispered, "He's always drunk out of his breeches. It's not unusual." _Not unusual?!_

Two more men walked up to them. The one with curly blond hair and green eyes smiled at her, "I am Courfeyrac. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle." When the second man did nothing, Courfeyrac elbowed him in the ribs. Suddenly noticing Victoire, he spontaneously looked friendly and welcoming. "And I, mademoiselle," he bowed, "am known around here as Joly."

Enjolras boldly grabbed her shoulder again, and sweepingly gestured his hand across the medium-sized room. There were other young men there as well, but something seemed almost….out of place. It almost felt like something or someone was missing.

"Sorry I'm late!" A pudgy man puffed out as he ran into the room, out of breath.

"It's quite alright, Marius," Enjolras declared, "and have you met Victoire?"

"It's nice to meet you, Victoire," Marius remarked.

Enjolras quickly advanced to the front of the room and called the meeting to order. Then, he started to talk about….revolution? Victoire leaned forward, interested.

"….And the police force is completely unfair and inferior…."

Something inside Victoire broke. It could have been anything, but Victoire thought it was her heart. Enjolras knew about her papa, Victoire reasoned, and surely he wouldn't mean a cruel thing like that. But then again…..

No. Victoire shook her head, trying to get the thoughts out of her boggled mind.

"….Inspector Javert….worst and cruelest man on the police force…."

Victoire let out a little squeak and sigh of disappointment and anger. She'd had enough. In a sort of rush, she stood up and quickly ran out of the door. Enjolras stopped, looking to the door that Victoire had just left out of. When the other students noticed that their leader had paused, they broke into a curious chatter.

Enjolras didn't notice. He pushed past the crowd and ran after Victoire. He found her at the fountain, sobbing into the water.

"What's wrong?" Enjolras asked, putting his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

"How could you?" Victoire sobbed.

Enjolras was genuinely confused. "What did I do?"

"You insult my father and dare to have the audacity to come and ask me what's wrong?!"

Enjolras understood now. "It's just," he said, trying to find an explanation, "your father has some strict ideas that we want him to change."

Victoire had stopped crying, but she was still upset. "That still doesn't mean that you can come in here and insult him."

"I know, and I'm really sorry," Enjolras apologized, "forgive me?"

Victoire was smiling. "Of course."

Enjolras grinned, as well. Then he started to lean his face down towards her. Victoire's heart jumped in her chest and was beating wildly like a drum. Their lips touched, and she was surprised by how gentle he was being with her.

Little did they know that the other students had come out to see what was wrong.

"So it seems that the pure and chaste Enjolras is no more," Courfeyrac laughed.

"They're good together," Joly said in his quiet manner.

Marius only spoke, "They really love each other." Marius, however, didn't know how right he would turn out to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Six months had passed since Victoire had first entered the ABC Café, met Les Amis de la ABC, and kissed Enjolras. Oh, she still thought about that day every single day, evening-and especially at night. Her father had been suspicious that evening when she had come home with an unusually bright smile and a dreamy, faraway look. Her look was so far away that she could have been in Montfermeil or even the distant capital of Russia, Saint Petersburg.

They'd kissed almost every day since then, and Enjolras was secretly courting her. To Victoire, it was official and the only thing that really mattered to her anymore. Though she had nothing to fear, the only worry she had was how her father would react when he found out. He'd have to, eventually, especially if Enjolras proposed. And, even if they didn't tell him then, if Victoire became pregnant, then they'd DEFINETLY have to tell once she came home with a newborn baby.

Victoire was reading in her small flower garden. Then, she was sitting on a small, marble bench that was in between the rose bushes. Tendrils of the bushes gently curled up the legs of the bench. Suddenly, she heard someone whisper, "Victoire!"

She turned. It was Enjolras. Going up to the black iron gate, she curled her fingers around the cool metal. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, "Papa might see you!"

He flashed her a smile. "I had to see you."

Then, he kissed her through the gate. It was as sweet and gentle as the first, though a little more passionate. It made what she had to tell him harder. When they parted, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying and breaking down.

"En….Enjolras…." she stuttered, trying not to sob.

"What is it, dear?" he asked, still staring at her.

"I have to tell you something."

"What?"

"My papa is being transferred to Montfermeil." Then she finally started crying, albeit quietly to not alert her papa. "It's for seven months. Only seven."

"It's still a lifetime…."

"But I love you."

"Always," Enjolras professed, "always and forever. We'll always love each other, and we can write letters."

Victoire perked up, her face suddenly bright. "Yes."

A noise aroused itself out of the house. "What's going on out there?" It was none other than Inspector Javert, her papa!

"Enjolras, you must leave!" Victoire whispered, pulling her fingers back through the metal bars.

Enjolras looked pained. "No."

"Victoire?" Javert called out again.

"Hurry," Victoire warned, "if he finds you, he'll very surely put a bullet through your head in one second."

The footsteps were coming closer…..CLICK! CLACK! CLICK! CLACK! "Victoire, are you okay? Who's out there?"

Her papa finally came into view, still fully clothed in his Inspector's uniform. He faintly smelled of…tobacco? Victoire was not aware that her papa smoked tobacco, let alone possessed it or a pipe. When he noticed Enjolras, his face turned red and the smoke that he had just been smoking practically came out of his ears.

"Why is he here?" he seethed, "It is quite improper, considering that it is the nighttime and my daughter is in her nightgown."

"Monsieur," Enjolras explained, "I am just seeing your daughter."

"It is improper, at the moment."

"But…."

"No buts, Monsieur Enjolras! I told you that you must be appropriate with my daughter, and you haven't listened. You may no longer see my daughter."

"Sir, that's not fair at all…." Enjolras said, starting to get angry as well.

"I care not what is fair. I care for justice," her papa stated.

"But I love him, papa!" Victoire cried out.

This got Javert's attention. He turned on the leather heels of his boots. "What did you say?"

"I said I love him," Victoire said defensively, intertwining her fingers with Enjolras'.

"You can't know what love is! You are so _young_!" Her father cried.

"Papa, in case you haven't noticed, I am 24 years old, and I say it's high time that I get married. I choose Enjolras. He is the only one I will have. If I am given to another I will not obey, I will deliberately disobey you and run away with Enjolras."

Her papa was shocked at her passion, though he did not facially show his emotion. As a policeman of the law, he learned to never show any emotion, especially fear. So why did he feel fear? He was supposed to be Inspector Henri Javert, the emotionless man of the law, the man made of steel and stone.

"Victoire, we are leaving. NOW!"


	4. Chapter 4

"Seven months….back in Paris!" Victoire squealed, excited. She was walking down the streets on her way to the ABC Café. She hadn't seen her beau in seven whole months, but today would be the day to see what her God in heaven had in store for her and Enjolras.

That day, she had purposely tried to look provocative just for her Enjolras. Her dress was a deep crimson with ¾ length sleeves. At the end of the sleeves were lace cuffs that blew softly with the chilly November breeze. The neckline of her gown was purposely low so as to show off her breasts. Adorning the edge of the neckline was a trim of gold that lit up her chest. She had her curly black hair back in a red ribbon with a rose tucked into it. Victoire hoped to make Enjolras fall more deeply in love with her, but making the other men jealous wouldn't have been such a bad thing.

Victoire parted the doors to the café and sauntered over to a chair. Everyone was staring at her as if they didn't know who she was. The men were whispering to each other. Some of them….well, they didn't have a very private reaction.

Enjolras pushed his way past his gawking counterparts. "Victoire?"

"Yes?" She asked seductively.

He put his hands on her arms and leaned so close to her ears that it made her shiver and moan a little. "God, you look so sexy."

Her grin only showed pure approval. "You don't look so bad yourself, Enjy."

It was his turn to shiver. Damn, the way that she said his name that way….it just made him want to do crazy, wild, impure, sinful things to her. "So, um…." He trailed off, "do you want to….erm….go to…." He didn't get to finish, for a rumbling was coming down the cobblestone streets. It sounded like a war in heaven, like a mighty thunderclap.

Fear gripped Victoire like a vice. "It's my papa! I'm not supposed to be here!"

Enjolras took command. "Go out back. There are two horses. Jump on the black one and ride around until you lose him."

When Victoire hopped on the horse, she felt a rebellious rush of adhrenaline. "Ya!" she yelled, kicking the horse's thighs. The horse shot off like a lightning bolt down the street.

"Victoire!" She could hear her papa yell.

Victoire started to mindlessly sing a song. "There was a time when men were kind, and their voices were soft, and their words inviting. There was a time when love was blind, and the world was a song-and the song was exciting! There was a time….then it all went wrong." Her papa could hear it.

She continued. "I dreamed a dream in time gone by, when hope was high, and life worth living. I dreamed that love would never die, I dreamed that God would be forgiving! Then, I was young-and unafraid! And dreams were made, and used, and wasted. There was no ransom to be paid; no song unsung, no wine untasted!" She could hear her papa, and now Enjolras, coming closer.

"But the tigers come at night, with their voices soft as thunder, as they tear your hopes apart, and turn your dreams to shame! I had a dream my life would be so different from this….hell I'm living! So different now, from what it seems! Now life has killed the dream I dreamed!"

Finishing her true, honest, and melodic song, she collapsed into tears. Her secret was out, she had told her story for the whole Parisian people to hear. Her papa caught up with her.

"Before you say anything," she interjected, "I thought you should know that I'm marrying Enjolras."

**A/N:**

**Ooh! I bet you didn't know that THAT little surprise was coming! Comment and let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Do you, Victoire Elizabeth Javert, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," she answered with a radiant smile that only brides can understand.

"And do you, Antoine Louis Enjolras, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded as long as you both shall live?"

He was sweating! Victoire noticed. Her already enormous smile got even bigger as he replied, "I do!"

The minister intoned, "Then, by the power vested in me, I therefore declare thee to be man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Holy Family Catholic Chapel burst into thunderous applause as the bride and groom kissed for the first time as man and wife. The happy couple walked down the long expanse of the aisle into a waiting carriage. Revelers already on the streets threw small flower petals at them. They arrived at the reception, and had a good time-Victoire's papa even cried a little! Inspector Javert cried!

"This is our home," Victoire whispered breathlessly. She giggled as Enjolras attempted to fit her poofy skirt through the door. When he finally succeeded, he didn't stop carrying her until they got to his room-wait, no it was _their _room now.

"Sit," she commanded rather rudely. Then, she started to undress. Her delicate and intricately-patterned lace dress fell easily off of her shoulders and slim hips. The white socks and silk slippers easily slipped off. Now, she was only in her underclothes. "Damn," Enjolras muttered.

Slowly and seductively, she unlaced her corset and dispelled it. Then, her chemise and bloomers came off too. Victoire was now fully naked. But, she was frowning.

"Something isn't quite right," she said, removing Enjolras' red velvet vest. "That's still not it!"

Removing his shirt, she remarked, "Better….but not quite it!"

Victoire removed his socks and leather shoes. "I'm so close….but, the problem is almost solved!" She removed his breeches, her hand gently grazing over the proof of his long pent-up desire. He moaned, "Please, stop teasing me!" He pulled her down to the bed and kissed and nibbled her neck.

He paused. "Are you a virgin?" She bit her lip and nodded. "Don't worry, I am too."

He put his lips on her ear. "I promise I'll try to be gentle."

Then, well….let's just say that they had a really good night. A really, REALLY good night.

**A/N:**

**I'm sorry this chapter was so short and crappy, but hey, at least you got two chapters in one day! You lucky ducks!**


	6. Chapter 6

Victoire had been acting a little out of character ever since their wedding night. Enjolras was a little freaked out when she would, without warning, burst into tears or want to break his neck in half. Enjolras had assumed that it was her time of the month-not that he cared to ask. He wasn't that interested in his wife's….._feminine_ aspects. The mood swings were too frequent, he had figured, to be her time.

And then, there was the constant….er….upset stomach. It happened every morning, and Enjolras was the one who had to clean it up if she didn't make it to the chamber pot in time. The upsets were always messy and EXPLOSIVE! The process disturbed him to no end, but he did his duty anyway. She was his wife, nay, his _life, _and he wanted to do everything he could to make her happy and comfortable.

Since she had been grumpy and upset, he was rather surprised when it stopped after three months. She had also declined their marital activities. Victoire loved those, so he was worried for her. She had also started to gain a little weight. Unusually, she didn't seem to be upset about her excess pounds. He didn't know the cause.

Until one day.

On the day he found out the cause, he was sitting in his small "library," reading his favorite law book. Victoire had silently slipped into the room. She politely sat down on a chaise longue in front of him, stretching her legs to make herself comfortable. To get his attention, she tried tracing the line of her cleavage. Boy, did that ever get his attention!

"DAMN IT!" He moaned.

Victoire looked concerned. "What's wrong, Enjy?" This time, she moved her hand over her stomach and started to gently feather her hands over it. Enjolras looked at her stomach….wait, why wasn't she wearing a corset? And was her stomach….swollen?

"Are you ill?" He asked, taking note of her enlarged stomach, "You're not wearing a corset."

This time, her radiant smile came out. The reflective glow of the candlelight bounced off of her face and bosoms. "No."

"Then, what is it?"

"Well," she remarked, "are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"Really, really sure?"

"Yes."

"Really, really, _really _sure?"

"Damn it, 'Toire," he exclaimed, using his precious nickname for her, "what is it?"

"I'm pregnant….three months pregnant, to be precise. In six months, you'll be a papa, and I will be a mama."

**A/N:**

**What will happen next? Stay tuned to find out!**

**BUM BUM BUM!**


	7. Chapter 7

_**6 MONTHS LATER**_____

The black hearse moved down the street at a snail's pace, as it was crowded by so many mourners. The red, white, and blue banner of the republic was elegantly and respectfully draped over the funeral carriage of General LaMarque.

Les Amis De L'ABC were strategically placed along the streets. Enjolras stood patiently next to his 9-months-pregnant wife, Victoire. She was due any day, and she had tried to get him to postpone the revolution, but it could simply not wait.

As the carriage passed them, the people started to sing. "Do you hear the people sing? It is the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will NOT be slaves again! When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drum, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes." The song increased in momentum as the Amis overtook the commandeering of the hearse. Enjolras had a large red flag that he waved around wildly to rally the people behind. Similar banners were paving the streets. General LaMarque's hearse tipped over, and the Amis ran down the streets until they got to the ABC Café.

Enjolras shouted loudly, "We need chairs, tables, beds, anything you've got!"

He got what he wished for. Chairs, tables, beds, painting frames, armoires, firewood, beer and wine barrels, and even a grand piano were thrown from the windows. The splinters flew everywhere, but nobody was pierced by one.

"Let them come," the Amis whispered simultaneously.

…

_**That Evening…**_

Victoire had finally made her way through the rampage to the barricade. She had to waddle, and now she was feeling uncomfortable. Sweat was staining her pink dress and was running down her legs. Well, actually, it wasn't sweat, but Enjolras didn't need to know that. He had enough to worry about, what with his revolution and all. The arrival of their child was the last thing they needed at the moment.

She looked a mess. Her naturally ebony, gypsy hair had fallen out of its ribbon and was matted down on her face by sweat. Her green eyes reflected the pain of the contractions, and her sweat glistened in the candlelight.

"Enjolras! There's someone advancing on the barricade!" Immediately, all guns and rifles were aimed at her.

She moaned a little weakly, "Don't shoot."

"Victoire?" Enjolras yelped, "What are you doing here?"

As soon as she was safely through the barricade, she awkwardly lowered herself onto the concrete and winced as another contraction pulsated through her body. Sarcastically, she answered him, "Well, our baby couldn't wait for this to be over. The baby's coming now, Enjy."

"Damn it," he muttered, "Joly, do you know how to deliver babies?" Joly nodded in reply.

"Good. Can you please help Victoire?"

"Yes," Joly promised as he knelt over to inspect Victoire. "She's close. The baby is crowning right now."

This was evidenced as Victoire opened her eyes widely and screamed, "SHIT!"

For the next hour, Victoire pushed, moaned, screamed, and insulted her husband to pass the time. Enjolras knew she didn't mean it. Had she not been in pain and not been insulting him he would've found it amusing.

"SCREW YOU, YOU BASTARD! IF I NEVER SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN I WON'T BE SORRY!"

"One more push and your baby will be here!" Joly exclaimed. Victoire complied, and with a low and painful moan, a wet, squirming, squalling baby slid out into Joly's arms. Joly used a clean knife to slit the umbilical cord and taped a silver coin over the wound.

"What is it?"

"Oh, erm, that….." Joly replied, embarrassed. Upon further examination, he was able to say, "You have a son!" and place the babe into Victoire's eager arms.

The Amis, who were waiting outside the Café, all jumped to attention when Enjolras exited. "Well?"

"I have a son!" Enjolras beamed, and guided them to the room where the messy, but beautiful, Victoire waited for them.

"What's his name?" Marius questioned.

Victoire and Enjolras shared a knowing glance and a smile. "His name is…..Charles Marius Enjolras," they answered simultaneously. Then, Charles burped loudly and started to fuss. Victoire, in her sensory motherly way, started to feed him.

Everyone shared a glance. They knew how happy Enjolras must be. But inside of himself, Enjolras was pained that his son would grow up fatherless.

That was the unspoken truth among them all.


	8. Chapter 8

It was over, all over; for Enjolras, at least. The barricade had been lost, only he was still alive, and he had an arm wound, and he knew that he would die. If he didn't die by the wound, which now throbbed painfully as he waited, then he surely believed that he would be executed. His only happiness came from the fact that he knew Victoire and Charles were safe in Montfermeil by now.

Damn them if they tried to save him! They would eventually kill him anyway. It was no use. He was too far gone already.

Damn them if they cared! They didn't. They were going to leave his wife, dear Victoire, a widow, and his newborn son, Charles, would grow up fatherless. That was probably the hardest thing for him to face.

He would never see his son's beautiful dark-brown hair get curly like his mama's. He would never get to see the emerald-green eyes of Victoire returning his gaze. He would never get to hold his wife again or show her the proof of his love for her. He'd never get to celebrate birthdays or holidays with his family. He wouldn't get to see the light of day again. He would never get to go to the park with his son and wife. He'd never get to see his son's first words, his first steps, or the other stages of development that come with adolescence.

Blood was now seeping through his charred shirt. It was hardly more than a wet piece of fabric-it did him no better than a wet piece of paper would. He tore it off in frustration and tossed it out the window. It hit the cobblestones that were already slick with the blood of his friends…his _friends. _Enjolras could only gulp at that thought.

The flow was heavier now, thicker now. It pooled the old floorboards that he was caressing. He grunted in pain as a splinter pierced his skin. No matter. At least, it wouldn't matter in a few minutes….or whenever they came to him.

A squad of about five soldiers entered the room. If he wasn't going to die he would have laughed at them and their seriousness. Their red uniforms perfectly matched his red blood.

"Any last words?" their apparent leader asked.

Enjolras stuck his chin in the air defiantly, with a proud dignity.

Behind the soldiers, Grantaire approached. "Vive la Republique!" Grantaire announced, "I'm one of them."

Enjolras could only stare in surprise. Grantaire actually cared!

Grantaire turned to Enjolras, squeezing his hand for assurance. "Do you permit it?"

Enjolras nodded. The bullets rang out.

Grantaire died immediately, falling to the floor in a fetal position. Enjolras, however, fell back out of the window. The tips of his leather boots caught the doorframe. Enjolras, his red flag still in his hand and his blood dripping in tendrils to the street below, died a martyr to his cause.

**()()()()()()**

**A/N: Okay, this is the last real chapter. I'm sorry that these chapters have been so short and terrible, but, I'm young. There will be an epilogue chapter after this, but this story will then be complete. Thank you so much for your reviews and support.**


End file.
